Recurrent Nightmares
by Kienova
Summary: His dreams sometimes break him, especially when they involve her dying.
_**Recurrent Nightmares**_

The first time he dreamt of her dying, she was perfectly fine.

He had seen her a few days before, when he had been moronic and kissed her hand. The dream left him with a pounding heart, his head throbbing as he sat bolt upright in bed, sweat soaking his night clothes and the image of her lying still on the ground, blood pooling not from her hand but from her lips, still fresh behind his eyes. He felt nauseous, breathing ragged as he swept his bangs out of his face, both thankful and angry at the fact that it was still dark out, no sunlight streaming through the curtains to banish the image from his mind.

He wondered what had caused the dream, wondered what made him conjure the image of her lying on the pavement, bleeding, when she was fine. Part of him desperately wanted to get out of bed, to grab his coat and rush over to Nonnatus to check on her, but he knew he couldn't. What reason was there? How could he justify appearing at a convent in the middle of the night to just ask after the welfare of one of the sisters? Would Sister Julienne really give him a response if he showed up and demanded to know if Sister Bernadette was sleeping or if she had truthfully been struck by a car the day before?

He pulled his nightshirt off, tossing it on the carpet before he laid back down, staring blankly at the ceiling. It took him till almost dawn to fall back asleep, his heart hurting at the idea that any harm could come to her.

The second time, the dream was different, but the idea was still the same.

 _He watched, helpless, as the door closed behind her, shutting her away in the Sanatorium, leaving him alone in the drive. He went back home, resumed his life, missing her in everything he did. The next thing he knew, Sister Julienne was before him, a stricken look on her face._

' _Sister, is everything all right?'_

' _I'm sorry Doctor, I received word this morning from the Sanatorium that Sister Bernadette has passed away_.'

He awoke at those words, their harsh syllables resounding together with the thunder that was crashing outside, echoing throughout the room, rain pelting against the windows. She had been gone for a month now and he had heard nothing, worry filling his mind in every second of idleness. Was she all right? Was she eating? Sleeping? Responding to the treatment? Improving? The questions circled around in his head so frantically that he could barely control his thoughts in a moment of clarity, let alone one of confusion and sleep deprivation. He could feel himself becoming dizzy with the attempt to keep his emotions contained and quickly got to his feet, stumbling blindly down the stairs and grabbing his car keys. By the time he made it to the car he was soaked, a flash of lighting streaking across the sky as he shut the door behind him, nearly falling across the bench seat as a sob ripped from his chest. He couldn't have Timothy hear him like this, see him like this. He rested his head on the rim of the steering wheel, wailing like a child for the pain he felt in his heart. What if he never got to truly tell her how he felt? What if she didn't return his affections? What if she truly did not get better? Would he ever have the chance to show her all he was, all he had to give to her? He would give her all of himself without a second thought; die for her with no hesitation.

He cried for nearly an hour, the shuddering sobs slowing to tears simply slipping down his face before they too dried up. The rain halted at almost the same time, the night air filled with humidity as it settled across Poplar, the temperature still cool as he managed to collect himself and go back into the house. He checked on Timothy, the boy still fast asleep in his bed, before he went back to his own room, stripping the cool, damp fabric from his body and falling onto the mattress. His heart and head ached, but he found sleep through exhaustion within minutes.

The third time, he was nearly ill. It was almost Christmas, they were to be married in a few day's time, and then the bomb was found.

 _She was running, trying to get somewhere, but he couldn't tell where. He screamed her name, begging her to be careful, urging her to stop, to come back to him. He tried to tell her that no patient was worth her life, that the street was evacuated for a reason, that he knew the result of shells and bombs from Italy, visions of his fallen comrades still lurking in the shadows of his mind. She turned suddenly, eyes wide as they met his from the other end of the road before an explosion rocked the street, a ball of fire and stone exploding from the ground beneath her feet, engulfing her. She was instantly gone before his eyes, pink mist splattering across Poplar._

He awoke with a gasp, tripping over the bedcovers as he flung himself towards the door, needing to breathe, to get some air. He was down the stairs within a breath, falling over the sideboard in the hall and waking the woman on the sofa.

"Patrick?" Shelagh asked, rubbing her eyes and squinting in the darkness as he reached for his keys. Hearing her voice he dropped them, turning around until he could calm his racing pulse with the sight of her. He was across the room instantly, falling to his knees beside the sofa and pulling her into his chest, burying his nose in her hair.

"Promise me, promise me you won't go near that bomb," he begged, unable to stop the tears that slid from his lashes, dampening her hair. Her arms wrapped around his back, tiny hands tracing circles into his shoulder blades as she somehow managed to tug him up onto the sofa with her.

"I won't, I promise," she assured him, not bothering to ask any questions, knowing he wouldn't be able to give her a proper answer in that moment. It took a while for him to calm, his forehead finding rest on her shoulder as his breathing returned to normal, his grip on her loosening until he was no longer clinging to her like a frightened child.

"I'm sorry," he muttered, leaning back. She chased him, placing a soft kiss on his lips and cupping his cheek.

"You've nothing to be sorry for," she answered. "Would you like to tell me what happened?" He felt like a petulant child as he shook his head. "Do you think you can go back to sleep?" Another shake. "Would you be able to sleep if I were to come to bed with you?"

"Shelagh!" he exclaimed, both shocked and smitten by the idea. How much easier would it be for him to sleep knowing that she was right by his side? That if he were to have another nightmare, all he would have to do was open his eyes and pull her to him? She didn't wait for him to answer. Instead she stood, holding out her hand to him before she led him back up the stairs and into his bedroom. It would be their bedroom soon enough.

He lay on his side of the bed with little hesitation, feeling his body relax as Shelagh curled up next to him, placing her palm on his chest right above his heart. He drifted swiftly, the exhaustion of the polio outbreak pulling him quickly back into slumber despite his fear of again seeing her die. As she watched him succumb to sleep she leaned over, kissing him on the forehead before she snuggled into his chest.

"I'll keep the nightmares away," she whispered.


End file.
